The Music Makers
by Harper64
Summary: A one-off 'epilogue' to 'Buried Secrets'. It's a very special day for Foyle and Frances.


I had a couple of people express disappointment that I had closed the bedroom door on F & F's wedding night. Unfortunately I'd already started to post another story set the following year so please forgive the contrivance I've used to share this bit of Foyle fluff with you.

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**The Music Makers**

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_"__We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams." _Arthur O'Shaughnessy

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**September 1941**

The late summer sun was warm on her skin as Frances walked back from the shops and up Steep Lane. The whole of the Old Town was a riot of colour and fragrance; no war was going to prevent the flowers that grew in every nook and cranny of the old streets.

Entering the cool house, she put her shopping on the kitchen table and poured herself a glass of water. She had used most of the week's precious rations on this evening's meal, but with good reason – it was their first wedding anniversary. He had made her so happy and she wanted to show him how special he was, how special this day was.

She unpacked the shopping and, from the bottom of the second bag pulled out the paper bag that contained his gift – a tie clip in the shape of a fish; a trout to be exact. The moment she'd seen it she knew that it was perfect for her fly-fishing husband. It was real silver, hallmarked, and had cost far more than she'd intended to pay but she still had a substantial amount in her own account from her days working in London. Shopping away, she took the miniature red box, with the clip inside, upstairs and wrapped it in a small piece of lilac silk, tied it with a blue ribbon. The silk had come from the dress she'd worn on their wedding day; she'd shortened it slightly to make it more suitable for smart day-wear. Hiding the gift in a drawer she lay on the bed. It was so warm here on the front of the house, the sun just moved round from their now open bedroom window. A rest before starting to prepare the meal seemed sensible. He wouldn't be home until late; had a witness to see in Eastbourne; she had plenty of time…

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…"Will you dance with me?"

She stepped into his arms, her body so familiar yet so newly exciting. They had already kicked off their shoes when the last guests left, so that he was able to tuck her head under his chin, just as he had done the very first time he held her. That seemed like an age ago now, even though it had been a mere twenty two days. So much had happened in those days that had amazed and delighted him, not least his own sexual awakening after so many years of celibacy. And the thought that she had given up so much, just to be with him; how could he ever repay her for these gifts?

She rested her head against his chest; could smell the 'Lifebuoy' soap he'd bathed with that morning, the detergent that she'd washed his shirt with, his aftershave and fresh sweat, all overlaid with another subtle scent that she now knew the meaning of. The first man she'd known had smelled of beer, cigarettes and stale body odour, a repulsive combination. But this man, her new husband, smelled of desire.

They side-stepped slowly to the music, making a small circle in the space by the bed. She could feel the beating of his heart against her cheek, the sway of his body against hers. How could she ever explain to him just how happy he had made her, how alive she felt in his company, how he had completed her with his love?

The music finished, the needle scratching round and round at the centre, but still he held her in his arms, his body firm against hers. Eventually he reached out and removed the arm from the record, lodging it back on its stand.

Without a word he lifted her chin and looked at her, his pale eyes dark with desire. His lips met hers in a slow and tender kiss; she felt the tug of longing that she had never experience before this man had taught her what physical love was like. She responded to his kiss, her tongue exploring his lips, his mouth, her body pressing against his. She could feel that he was erect and ready, but he did not react other than with a gentle sigh as he continued to kiss her, his mouth moving to her ears, her neck, her shoulders.

"Turn round, my love," he said softly, "let me undo this dress."

It wasn't necessary; she could slip it over her head, but she did as he asked. He carefully undid the tiny buttons, his mouth following his fingers down her back making her shiver with anticipation. The fabric fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, turning back to him. His hands went to her back, unhooking her bra. She let it fall forwards revealing her soft breasts, nipples hard with expectancy. He had taken off his waistcoat and she began to unbutton his shirt, mirroring his actions and trailing her lips down his chest, his stomach, felt the instinctive straining of his pelvis towards her mouth.

"Oh, my love, my sweetest," she whispered, as he pulled her up, kissing her fiercely, willing himself to wait; to make every moment special.

Her hands were undoing his trousers now, pulling them loose, stretching his underwear over the proud swelling, releasing him from their confinement. He kicked the clothing free from his feet and, with both hands at her waist, sat her on the edge of the high bed. He found it difficult to believe that she would kiss him in such personal places; his previous experiences had been more conventional, less adventurous. Now he wanted to explore every inch of her body, to show her the fascination he felt with her. Kneeling now, his mouth moved to her stomach, his teeth caught her silky knickers and dragged them downwards. She raised her rear, enabling him to pull them free, his tongue trailing down her hip, her inner thigh, his hands removing them completely. He unclipped her nylons from her suspender belt, eased each one down carefully. She did not flinch, but shivered pleasurably under his touch.

His mouth was travelling back up her bare legs, his tongue tickling behind her knee, his lips brushing her thigh. She was still unused to being touched so intimately; every nerve ending in her body seemed to be tingling; she felt her body throbbing with need, aching to feel him filling her completely.

He stood between her legs, pressed himself against her belly, hot and firm, his lips kissing her hair, his voice murmuring her name, his hands caressing her back. Her breasts were soft against his body, her face buried in his chest, her tongue teasing his nipples . Her breath was coming in gasps now, her hands almost clawing at his back.

"Lie back," he whispered as he stepped back and lifted her legs onto the bed. She wriggled up the bed to make room for him to join her. He positioned himself above her, weight on his forearms, and brushed his lips lightly over hers. She moaned softly, her body moving under him.

She expected him to enter her then, but he moved down, and used his tongue on her breasts, his hair tickling her chin. She stroked the back of his head, feeling the soft curls she loved so much as she concentrated on waiting, refusing to allow her body the release it craved until he was with her.

Just as she thought he was going to make her wait even longer, he shifted position, his face close to hers, his eyes gazing into hers seriously. Then, with a slow sensuous smile he entered her, just partially, his body finding hers with no other guidance than their need. His eyes remained locked to hers as she felt him rocking, oh so gently. He began to move, back and forth, a little at first, slowly increasing the depth and rhythm of his thrusts and making her cry out with both pleasure and need.

He watched, as her eyes, previously locked onto his, unfocussed and he knew the moment was right. Pushing himself up onto his hands, he let the base of his shaft rub against the spot he knew gave her the greatest pleasure. He felt her whole body convulse as the waves of her climax overtook her, heard her shout out with exhilaration again and again. The pride he felt in being able to transform her in this way was immense, and he relaxed enough to finally allow his own convulsive release; it took him to heights he had never thought possible, shaking his whole body in a paroxysm of ecstasy.

He collapsed beside her, tears rolling down his cheeks with the intensity of emotion that he felt; his love for his new wife; the significance of the day. He'd vowed to love her forever in front of those who meant so much to him; Charles, Roz's brother, his friend and support at her death; young Sam whose boundless energy and liveliness had endeared her to him; his protégé, Milner, whose professional support had been so needed and appreciated; and Andrew, his son, a part of him who had, at various points in his life, caused him to experience every known emotion to some degree or another. Today, as he had stood by his brave, handsome son, he had felt prouder than he could remember since the day he first held him as a baby. Tonight he had demonstrated his passion for the newest, most important, person in his life and had that passion returned. He sobbed, not knowing why, but understanding the need to liberate these feelings that threatened to overwhelm him completely.

She felt the wetness on his cheeks and wiped them gently with her fingertips. She knew him to be a man of discipline, self-controlled, even-tempered and gentle, so was now overjoyed to see this demonstration of unbridled emotion, to see him moved by the magnitude of the day's events, culminating in the fulfilling experience they had just shared. She had always found that tears came easily to her; she could cry at a book, a film, the sight of the sea on a stormy day. But tonight was not, for her, a time for her tears. It was a time to dry his tears; a time for her to be the strong one and comfort her beloved; the time for a true marriage to begin…

.

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She opened her eyes and wiped her wet cheeks. He lay propped on his elbow, his strong shoulders brown from the summer evenings spent working in the garden or lazing on the tiny patch of lawn which just caught the evening sun. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his laughter-lines deepening.

"Hello, beautiful," he said, "Didn't mean to wake you. Just wanted to watch you sleeping. Why the tears?"

"Oh, love, I don't really know, Same reason as you?" she said, still drowsy in the warm room, dust motes drifting across the window. "It's been such a wonderful day, hasn't it? Would you put the record on again…." She paused. Where was the gramophone? The flowers? Why were the curtains open…?

He smiled again, his brow wrinkling as he tried to understand.

"Think you've been dreaming, my love," he whispered, "but it is a very special day."

He sat up, reached out to his bedside table and picked up a little red box, opened it and held it towards her. Something inside twinkled at her.

"An eternity ring," he whispered taking it from its box, "garnets and diamonds. You know what it represents don't you, my love?"

He put one hand on her heart; the other slipped the ring onto her finger and moved to rest on her abdomen, the rounded mound of her pregnancy now clearly discernible.

"Happy Anniversary, my love."

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oooooooOOOOOOOooooooo

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Hope that you are enjoying reading these stories as much as I'm enjoying writing them, and many thanks to those who have reviewed, it is much appreciated.


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